Oh So Quiet
by legallyblained
Summary: Kurt and Blaine and babbies and bowties. Pure fluff.


It's quiet.

Too quiet.

Not that Blaine doesn't appreciate it. As soon as Rosie was out of the noisy, screaming stage, along came Olivia and took her place. Even then, Rosie was still so chatty they never got a minute's peace, which is why the silence now felt so odd. Blaine occasionally wished for silence, but he always found it disconcerting when he got it. It meant someone was hurt or upset or unconscious… either way, it meant something was wrong. He's been told not to question peace and quiet when it happens, but he decides to investigate anyway – Rosie might have invented a new game or drawn a picture or be hiding somewhere, and she would definitely need sustenance. Blaine finishes cutting up peanut butter sandwiches, apples and brownies and balances three plates on his arm before going upstairs (Kurt would figure out where they were when he was out of the shower. God bless last Sundays where the four of them could just be at home together).

Blaine had to pause in the doorway when he got to Rosie's room, a huge smile appearing as he watched her. She was standing in front of the full-length mirror she'd begged them for ("so I can pick out the right clothes, Daddies!") with a familiar piece of fabric around her neck, tangled into a colour explosion at her throat. She's so fixated on it, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips – _that explains why she's not singing to herself_, Blaine thinks. Of all of her habits, that's his favourite. After a couple of minutes, he huffs out a single breath to let her know he's there without making her jump. It makes her jump anyway, yanked out of her bubble of concentration. He smiles reassuringly and puts the plates down on her bed, instinctively smoothing the covers down, before kneeling behind her. His hand reaches up to stroke her hair without thinking.

"Where did you get that?" he asks softly.

"I…" she looks a little guilty, "I took it from your drawer. Am I in trouble? Do you want it back?"

It's the most garish one he owns, one Kurt has tried to nudge out of their shared bowtie drawer for years, baby blue with different coloured stars. Santana bought it for him at pride in his senior year at NYADA. 'Just in case you ever want to save yourself the hassle of coming out.' He'd never caved, keeping it out of nostalgia, and now he was glad.

"No, baby, it looks way better on you."

She beams, and he kisses her hair and rocks back on his heels, both of his hands on her waist. She's perfectly steady on her feet and he knows she won't topple over really, but he can't help wanting to protect her, just in case.

"I did it up wrong."

"I think it looks gorgeous."

"But it's wrong."

"Honey, your dad always tells me there's no 'wrong' when it comes to fashion. This just shows you have _flair_."

"What's that?"

"It means you have your own special way of dressing and putting your outfits together to make you… stand out. It means you're very special."

"You mean like Daddy does?"

He smiles, taking her hand in his and glancing at the outfit she's put together – white, short-sleeved button-down, yellow pleated skirt, white socks peeking out from shiny, red shoes. All clashing a little, but somehow all pulled together by the bow tie. The dark curls and honey-golden eyes say Blaine, but so much about her just screams Kurt.

"Exactly like Daddy."

That appeases her for a moment, but then she scrunches her face up in frustration for a second and tugs at the fabric.

"But I wanted it to look like how _you_ have it. Like a bow."

She prods at the violet number currently perched over Blaine's throat, and his grin only gets bigger. She's such a dreamer, always making up stories and singing to herself and asking the most bizarre questions about animals and flowers and trees, making daisy chains and putting them in her dads' hair – and yet she still manages to be a perfectionist.

"Okay. Let me take a picture of it like this, so we can preserve the style for future generations of fashion icons, and then I'll show you how to do it like mine."

She nods.

Blaine's just getting her to pose, tickling her tummy to tease out a genuine smile, when Kurt walks in, still scrubbing his hair dry, in jeans, a teal shirt and bare feet, his toes wiggling in the carpet in excitement at the sight of Blaine and Rosie.

"Now I'm not one to interrupt a photoshoot, but what's this in aid of… and where did you get that bow tie? I thought I'd hidden it."

"It found a more worthy owner. What do you think?"

"I think it looks absolutely gorgeous!" He says, dropping his towel and scooping her up so she squeals.

"Daddy! Your hair's dripping on me!"

"Well if you're already soaking wet, then you won't mind me giving you a big sloppy kiss!" he says, smooching her cheek with a loud 'Mwah!' "Sweetie, why don't you let me take a picture of both of you? Cause you match?"

"Okay!" she shouts, and they have a picnic/photoshoot in her bedroom, giggling and eating and chatting away. Kurt grabs his own bow tie so the three of them are coordinated, and after half an hour there are dozens of pictures: Blaine with his arms wrapped tightly around Rosie's middle while her arms are outstretched and her mouth is wide open; Rosie feeding Kurt a brownie while he hugs her close on his hip, a huge grin on his face; Blaine's clumsy selfie of him kissing away the blob of peanut butter that somehow gets onto Kurt's cheek (Rosie had put it there as a cheap but effective ploy of Blaine's orchestration).

"Daddy," Rosie chirps as she polished off her last slice of apple, "why can't Olivia be in the pictures too?"

As if she knows her sister is asking after her, Olivia starts crying in the next room.

"Sounds like she misses you too. Okay, sweetheart," Kurt kisses Rosie's cheek, "I'll go get her."

"Alright then," Blaine sits Rosie on his lap in front of the mirror, "let's get this fixed. I can't do it backwards."

Olivia is happily suckling on a bottle when Kurt brings her back in, and as Blaine straightens up Rosie's bow tie, he glances over to see a yellow ribbon in her hair.

"Hey, you guys."

"You didn't."

"I might have."

"You put a bow in her hair so we could all match."

"Well I don't want her to get left out. That wouldn't be fair."

"Yeah, Daddy, that wouldn't be fair."

Blaine shrugs.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be unfair. Come here."

Kurt gently lays Olivia on Rosie's lap, firmly supported by Blaine's arms behind her. He bends down to kiss both little girls and the man they were both sitting on, before snuggling up behind Blaine, phone in his hand. He pressed a kiss to Blaine's jaw, simultaneously stretching his arm out to snap a picture of his family, four bows in an affectionate bundle. It was that photograph that quickly found a place on the living room wall, and on both of their desks. Every time either of them looked at it, they remembered noise – giggling and chattering and singing and gurgling.

Kurt and Blaine had never really liked quiet.

Fortunately for them, it never lasted long in their home.


End file.
